Escaping Mediocrity
by Soxil
Summary: So she would tell him. Today, after Herbology, while she and Draco ate lunch, she would tell him. She didn't like the notion of an ultimatum because, to be honest, it seemed underhanded and he was her best friend for Merlin's sake! No, he could do as he pleased and she would respect that either way. But Pansy was going to tell him.


**Disclaimer: Characters belong to JK Rowling**

A/N: Wow I have not written in a very very long time. Hopefully this is the start of my journey back into the world of fanfiction so take a look and let me know what you think! For any of you that have read my story "Fa Battere il Mio Cuore", yes, I do plan on finishing it someday-sorry it is taking so long! And if you like this story and Pansy Parkinson POV in general, check out my other one shot "Envy is a Soft Shade of Green". Enjoy!

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Pansy Parkinson was content with mediocrity.

It didn't particularly bother her to know she was nowhere near the top of her class nor did she sigh with relief when her marks were consistently at average. She didn't invest so much time in her appearance that split ends weren't visible and yet she had maintained a certain degree of consistency with her style that at least demonstrated she put forth _some_ effort. She didn't have a sweet tooth, nor did she douse her food in salt like so many of her peers; she never folded back the flat sheet on her bed but she always made her bed; she was always quick to retaliate with quick insults but she drew them from a vast collection she had acquired from others over the years.

Yes. Pansy Parkinson was content with mediocrity.

As she sat in the Hogwarts' Greenhouse, only partially aware that she was indeed sitting through yet another Wednesday Herbology class, she allowed her mind to wander—you see, that's the benefit of mediocrity: no one expected her to pay attention and since she always came to class and never failed to turn in her work and sit through the finals, no one minded that she passively contributed to the lesson. She was free to do as she pleased so long as she kept up appearances.

Pansy Parkinson relished this freedom.

Whole lessons whizzed by as she made up story after story in her mind. Sometimes they were trite and inspired by the latest gossip Millicent had brought to her attention; other times they were more complex and focused on alternate universes where she and her friends played different characters. Hypothetical situations frequently dominated her wandering mind and she would attack a single conversation from multiple angles, never truly satisfied or dissatisfied with the results. She wasn't creative—she snorted at the thought—she was simply blessed with the freedom of mediocrity. The freedom to remain silent, overlooked, and left to the solitude of her thoughts.

But today was a bit different. The apathy and indifference that normally swirled nonchalantly in Pansy's mind was replaced with a focused determination. Rather than sit back and allow the elements of the world around her inspire her thoughts into almost chaotic and nonsensical meanderings, today she was concentrated on one element. A single element which had been on her mind for the past few months. She had never really given it any time to fully flesh itself out nor had she completely ignored it but for some reason, _today_ she was entirely consumed by it.

Draco Malfoy.

He wasn't in her class. He was taking some N.E.W.T. level course. He was nowhere to be seen and she was quite sure she hadn't seen him since Sunday morning when she snuck out of his dormitory. And yet, his presence ruled over her mind with a tyrannical force she had never experienced. It was quite out of the ordinary and Pansy found herself perplexed by her sudden ability to focus so intently on a single matter. But, what was the use in fighting it? Pansy Parkinson was not one to fight back and she slowly allowed her mind to lose itself to Draco Malfoy.

She remembered the taste of alcohol on his lips when she first kissed him. But perhaps she was actually tasting the alcohol on her own lips. I didn't matter either way—they had been rather drunk that first January night. It was odd, to kiss your best friend. Odd because it felt like the most natural thing in the world but somehow a little bit naughty. As if the concept of becoming romantically intimate with the one person who knew more about you than anyone else was forbidden and warranted shame. He had said something to her. Something nice. It wasn't uncommon of Draco to compliment Pansy but it was so rare that each time made her cock her eyebrow in piqued interest. But this time was different. Why was it so different? She couldn't remember. Likely because of the alcohol. Maybe that's what was so different. Alcohol. Either way, she kissed him and he kissed her back. Ferociously, she might add.

She remembered eating in the Great Hall with him, one day for lunch, while all the others were busy going about their lives. They had begun sleeping together a few weeks prior but it felt like almost nothing had changed. He teased her, she pretended to understand all of his obscure references, and they unabashedly picked food off of each other's plates. She remembered this lunch in particular because he expressed his desire to shag in a more public place. She didn't understand how his dormitory, which he shared with three other 7th year Slytherins, wasn't public enough. He explained, in great detail mind you, the importance of exploring their sexuality and she nodded pretending to understand. The joked about getting caught. They each felt excited by the prospect. That night they shagged in an empty classroom. No one caught them, unfortunately.

She remembered when he told her about Daphne Greengrass. It had been at the beginning of October or November, long before that first boozy kiss had happened. He was intrigued by this girl. They had never properly met before but now that they were partners in some N.E.W.T. level class, he was becoming increasingly interested in her. But they were both seeing other people at the time. Daphne either didn't care or was simply cruel enough to whisper sweet nothings into Draco's ear whenever they were alone. Eventually both relationships dissolved and soon Draco was in Daphne's bed.

Pansy remembered how please she was to hear that the tension between Draco and Daphne had finally snapped. She squealed excitedly as he told her all the horrific details of their first sexual encounter. How she tore into his back with her nails; how he adored the feel of her petite body beneath his; how she wailed like a banshee when she finally came around him. That last part sent Pansy into a hearty laugh which Draco could not help but accompany. They seemed to talk for hours about this new freedom which Draco was finally able to experience now that he no longer felt tied down by a formal relationship. Their conversation took them to dinner, then back into the common room, and then finally to his last bottle of Firewhiskey. Perhaps it was all that talk of sex that led both of them to his bed that night for their first kiss and their first night together. Or perhaps it was the alcohol. Likely it was the alcohol.

But it wasn't alcohol that drove them to explore each other's bodies in the days and weeks and months following that first encounter. Pansy was surprised by how easy it was to sleep with him. She didn't feel the pressure to be overly feminine like she had felt with Terry nor did she feel like she was as loud as Michael had claimed (and honestly, anything in comparison to Daphne made Pansy look like a church mouse in bed).

With Draco she felt _real_. She felt like she could rip his clothes off with animalistic desire one moment and then sit in utter silence as they both read the next. Sex became a part of her routine. Thursday and Saturday nights were for hours long marathons of sex. The other nights were for her friends, her studies, or simply for herself. It felt natural.

And she didn't mind knowing that Draco was spending his Friday and Sunday nights with the banshee. It sincerely never bothered her to know that Daphne had developed her own routine with Draco—and one that almost perfectly matched Pansy's. But Daphne didn't know about Pansy. At least, that was what Draco claimed. They didn't talk about such things, he explained. But with Pansy, Draco spoke freely about Daphne. And Pansy laughed. Sometimes she advised, but mostly she simply listened intently. He was her best friend after all. What else was she going to do?

But something had shift. As cliché as Pansy felt it to be, something had changed in the way she thought about Draco Malfoy. And she was no long content simply fitting him into her monotonous routine. She wanted something more. Nothing huge, just _something_.

So she would tell him. Today, after Herbology, while she and Draco ate lunch, she would tell him. She didn't like the notion of an ultimatum because, to be honest, it seemed underhanded and he was her best friend for Merlin's sake! No, he could do as he pleased and she would respect that either way. But Pansy was going to tell him.

She thought about the phrasing in her head. She ran through a series of hypothetical dialogues between her and Draco. She began to consider the ramifications of what could happen if he chose one way over the other.

Students began piling out of the Greenhouse. Pansy stood, gathered her things, and followed her classmates out into the lush, spring time air that hung over Hogwarts with anticipation. She watched as Millicent picked at her knickers and as Logan laced his arm around Lily. She watched the castle begin to grow before the group of students as they edged nearer and nearer and she watched as a swarm of birds ducked down into the Forbidden Forest. As she made her way into the Great Hall, she watched as other students from different years and different classes swarmed through the doors and desperately fought to find a place next to their friends.

But Pansy simply took her time. No need to exert too much effort, she mused. She allowed a first year to elbow her and she allowed her hand to find the back of his head in a swift slap—nothing too hard, but pointed enough to get a message across. She continued to wander towards the Slytherin table, with a weak smile on her face.

She saw his platinum hair before she registered he had already started eating. Typical. Such gentlemen these purebloods claim to be. She sat across from him, as was to be expected and began to serve herself some potatoes and thick slabs of chicken breast. He stole a few of her potatoes and smiled up at her through mouthfuls of food. She rolled her eyes before turning back to her plate and pouring a goblet of what looked to be pumpkin juice—_not_ her favorite.

"You look sour today, Pansy. Was Herbology particularly foul?" he asked, slicing his chicken breast with elegant strength.

She instantly relaxed her face, a bit annoyed that she had shown anything. She placed a couple potatoes in her mouth, felt the rosemary and thyme blend magically with the slightly roasted skins of the potatoes, before chomping down on their soft forms. Would he consider it an ultimatum, she wondered. It's not that she didn't mind Daphne as a person but she certainly liked herself much more.

He seemed to be waiting for an answer from her.

Perhaps he felt the same way? Perhaps these last few months were starting to take their toll on him as well. Perhaps he was simply masking it far better than she was.

She wasn't asking for anything because she wasn't sure what she wanted. She certainly didn't love him. But she could understand if she eventually did. She just knew that if she didn't say something, she would continue to waste away in mediocrity. She would have claim to only a little bit of him. Her heart would only be partially full. Her body would only be partially satiated. If she didn't say something now, she feared she would never. And this wasn't just a matter of speaking up to Draco; what if she never spoke up to any man in her life? What if she never gained the courage to admit what she wanted, what she expected? Would she allow her life to wallow in mediocrity forever? She didn't care about her studies, her appearance, or her dreams. She wasn't even sure she had dreams—they always seemed so _heavy_. But love?

Pansy Parkinson certainly cared about love. She cared about her sexuality. She cared about feeling secure, and respected, and appreciated. She thought she could likely care about a child one day. Perhaps she would even care about that child's studies, and its appearance, and its dreams. She could not be mediocre in love. She _would not_ allow herself to be mediocre in love.

Even if he didn't understand or didn't agree, she knew she had to speak. If not just to hear the sound of her own voice declare that she had an opinion. That she was willing to work for something if a lover also found it worthy of working for. She would do this for herself because for once, Pansy Parkinson was sick of mediocrity.

"Draco," she said, not missing a beat, "I want you to know that it would hurt me to know you were sleeping with another woman. It was different before. It's different now. _I'm _different now."

She picked up another potato off her plate and delicately placed it into her mouth. She chewed, slowly, waiting for a response she knew would take some time to formulate. But until he did answer her, she was momentarily pleased with herself. Any anxiety she had about voicing her thoughts melted away from her once tense body. She exhaled and found herself smiling.

Pansy Parkinson was certainly not mediocre.

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A/N: Hope you liked it! And if you did, **reviews** encourage me to write more and more!


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